


fear not, for I bring tidings of great joy

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Arthurian Mythology, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arthurian, Brienne of Tarth is the Best, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Holy Grail, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by Music, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Series, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Why,” he spits at once, even if it wasn’t what he meant to say — he should have asked her who she was and where she came from and why she was here already, but suddenly her clear voice had sounded wrong, the way the whispers behind his back in court sound, “somehow you think I’m unworthy of that? Believe me, I know.”She flinches. She downright flinches as she shakes his head.“No,” she says, “that’s because it is unworthy of you.”At that, Jaime is pretty sure he heard wrong. “Pardon me, it’s what?”“Let me guess,” she says, moving closer, “you’re here because either someone pushed you to or because you thought it would restore your reputation to find that, and who would ever question a knight’s honor and virtue if he showed up with the Seven’s Holy Chalice, aren’t you?”or: in which after Aerys, Jaime goes on a quest to find atonement.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 34
Kudos: 224
Collections: COWT - Clash Of the Writing Titans/Chronicles Of Words and Trials





	fear not, for I bring tidings of great joy

**Author's Note:**

> ... I don't know what the hell is this even but tldr: I currently can't finish anything I should and I'm doing a challenge which had prompts for arthuriana inspired fic, so what happened was... AUs based on Josh Ritter's [Galahad](https://genius.com/Josh-ritter-galahad-lyrics), in which tldr galahad finds the holy grail and an angel guards it except that it's not exactly a pious angel. I tried to adapt it to whatever ship I could find and I DECIDED THIS HAD TO HAPPEN so have the weird-ass pre-series post-Aerys AU with gratuitous porn on altars because why not. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS IS but have at it I've re-read it so many times I don't even know anymore. Have the gratuitous porn we'll be back with the scheduled stuff the moment I figure my schedule out.
> 
> other than that: the title is from the song in question, I own nothing except the arthuriana bastardization and I'll saunter back downwards now. Have fun. ;)

It takes Jaime three years to find the cave.

He had imagined it happening differently, a lifetime ago.

When he had dreamed of knighthood and quests and songs about his bravery and deeds, finding the Seven’s Holy Chalice had been… well. What songs _were made of_. A magical artifact that could only be found by a brave, virtuous, _pure_ knight and that could grant eternal knowledge if you drank from it, or heal any illness? Every knight dreams of finding it.

But he hadn’t imagined that he’d go on such a quest in atonement, because he couldn’t live with himself after slaying Aerys and after no one even asked why, and when even Cersei spurned him because _he was always in a mood_ and _that wasn’t how he should be when with her_ , and told him that he was useless to her like that, he — he just thought, maybe if he tried to find it and do his best on his way to it when he reached it the gods would absolve him or just kill him and put an end to his misery and to his dreams filled with Rhaella’s screams, Aerys’s _burn them all_ , wildfire and Cersei’s lips cruelly turned downward as she told him that he wasn’t worthy to even look at her, like _this_. He’s spent years roaming Westeros, he’s defended innocents and maidens and killed brigands and it wasn’t worth shit because everyone just stares and wonders why the kingslayer would ever do such a thing, he most likely has some hidden purpose to it, an evil one.

_No_ , he wanted to say, _I just want peace, this wasn’t what I signed up for when I knelt for Arthur Dayne_ , but who would hear him?

No one, most likely, so he said nothing and he had kept on looking, and now here he is, freezing in the fucking _North_ , somewhere not far from the Wall, the _last_ place where everyone would expect to find a relic of the Seven — people still worship the Old Gods here, after all. But all the traces he had found brought here, and the cave _has_ a chalice sculpted on the outside, and all the witches he talked to and counseled with dropped hints that only said _go North_ , and so —

He breathes in, cold hair seeping through his lungs.

Then he puts a hand on his sword — the one he killed his king with as he said to _burn them all_ — and walks inside the cave.

It’s warmer in here, he thinks. It’s also darker, but a little dark won’t be what undoes him, and so he walks onward and onward until he reaches a deeper part of it, and — it’s larger, he thinks, and there has to be a passage for air because it’s fresh as he breathes in, though it’s still warmer than it was on the outside. Maybe he can try to light a torch, if he can find a piece of wood and a couple of stones —

He doesn’t have to because a moment later suddenly seven torches light at once.

He gasps as he takes in the sight — he’s at the entrance of a large, circular space, with the torches in question at the sides, a slab of stone in the middle, and a golden chalice covered in precious gemstones on it. He can only see three from his vantage point, but he’s sure he can see a ruby, an emerald and a sapphire, so there is most likely a stone for each of the Seven.

_Oh_ , he thinks. _I found it, after all_. It’s strange — the legend says that only virtuous, _pure_ knights can, after all, and he certainly isn’t one, but if he comes to court with it, maybe —

“Don’t go near that thing,” a female voice says, and Jaime immediately grasps his sword as he glances towards the bottom of the cave.

Oh. Someone was standing there, in the shadows, and a moment later _she_ walks out of them, and —

_And_.

She’s certainly unlike _any_ woman he’s ever seen — she’s tall, a few inches more than he is, with brittle pale blonde hair that reaches her shoulder, shoulders wider than his own, freckles splattered all over a homely face with a thrice-broken nose and too-full lips, but he barely notices that because all his attention is captured first by a pair of astonishingly pretty blue eyes, large and clear and with long lashes that shine brighter than the sapphires on the chalice… and secondly, by her clothing. Because she’s wearing _armor_ — it’s a dark blue that compliments her face very well indeed, and it suits her the way beautiful gowns used to suit his sister, and she has a sword on her hip that she carries surely and that seems… made for that outfit. Her cloak, though, is old and battered, with a pink and blue sigil with a sun and a moon on it.

And she’s staring straight at him with eyes that seem as if they’re pleading him not to.

“Why,” he spits at once, even if it wasn’t what he meant to say — he should have asked her who she was and where she came from and why she was _here_ already, but suddenly her clear voice had sounded _wrong_ , the way the whispers behind his back in court sound, “somehow you think I’m unworthy of that? Believe me, I _know_.”

She flinches. She _downright_ flinches as she shakes his head.

“No,” she says, “that’s because _it_ is unworthy of you.”

At _that_ , Jaime is pretty sure he heard wrong. “Pardon me, it’s _what_?”

“Let me guess,” she says, moving closer, “you’re here because either someone pushed you to or because you thought it would restore your reputation to find _that_ , and who would ever question a knight’s honor and virtue if he showed up with the Seven’s Holy Chalice, aren’t you?”

“ _How_ do you know —” Jaime starts, feeling like the ground just opened under his feet.

“You came here not really believing that you’d find it, but you _really_ wanted to buy it,” she goes on. “Because what’s virtue and honor when others think you have none? And now you want to believe against all odds that it will make people forget you killed your king, don’t you?”

“I don’t — I never told you — _who are you_?”

“Ser Jaime,” she says, half-smiling, “my name is Brienne of Tarth. You most likely never heard of it until now. Because I was born long before you,” she goes on, her tone turning _sad_. “I used to be like you. I mean, I wanted to be a knight. I wanted songs to be written about my deeds. I was _good_ at it. I never was any good at being a _lady_ , but I certainly was at holding a sword. Of course, no one ever took me seriously, so I thought I would find _that_.” She nods towards the chalice. “And then, well. People _would_ see my worth.” She smiles sadly, shaking her head. “So I roamed the entire continent, I saved innocents, I defended maidens, I did everything the vows asked for even if I never could swear them, and I found this place after a few years, and I heard a voice telling me that I had proved my worth and that if I drank from _that_ I would finally know it for true.”

“I assume… there was a catch?” Jaime asks, his previous animosity dying at how _sad_ she sounds.

“Oh, there was. I drank. It’s true, it gives you eternal knowledge and heals you from _anything_ , including old age, which is why I knew who you were the moment you walked inside here, and why I’ve been here for _decades_ and I look the same as I did back in the day. But it never said that it’s impossible to take it away from here, so drinking from it means that you have to _guard_ it for the rest of your life, because after all, what’s more knightly and virtuous than standing guard to a magical cup that only values your _purity_?”

“… How so?”

“The voice — after I drank, it said that I was the perfect candidate because no man had ever touched me nor wanted me nor thought about me in an _impious_ way, and no one ever would or _could_ , and I had a pure soul and pure reasons and there was no knight such as myself.” She laughs, bitterly. “If it knew that I only chose this life because no one _wanted_ me, well. It certainly did not care. And let me tell you, it’s a bad life. Nothing to do but think about everything you ever did wrong.”

“Well,” he says, his throat closing, his stomach curling on itself at hearing such a story, “then I am sure I would fall dead on the spot if I —”

“No,” she says, and now she’s looking at him _softly_ , in a way no one has done lately. “Others found this place. Not many, but they did. I warned them, and they all drank, and they all died, because they really cared not for their vows, only for fame or money or power, and they wouldn’t listen to me on account of, well, _myself_. I knew at once as they walked in. You — you broke your vows to a man to uphold a knight’s most sacred vow, and your heart is in the right place, and I can feel that no one appreciates it for what it is, but I know it would accept you. Because true knights aren’t such because of words, they are because of deeds. And I can feel that you still uphold honor and value above _that_ , even if others can’t see it. You wouldn’t die,” she shakes her head, again, “but you would be stuck here, and believe me, it’s no life I would recommend. You should leave and uphold that one vow and be brave and just, never mind a mad king that wanted to murder his entire city. You don’t deserve to be a sacrifice to _virtue_ , whatever it means.”

“But —” Jaime shakes his head, seeing that her eyes are wet now, feeling at once how much she loathes this, “you _cannot_ leave? At all?”

“How?” Her voice is this close to a sob. “I am everything the prophecy required. I drank from that blasted cup. Maybe I should have let those men who bet on my maidenhead have me, back in the day.”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Jaime says, “men who did _what_?”

“I was in a military camp,” Brienne shrugs. “A few of them courted me for a while. Then it turned out that they had a bet and whoever could manage it would win. Knowing _this_ , though, maybe I should have let one of them do it.”

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing honorable in that,” he says, and _then_ he suddenly has a thought, and — _why not_. “And what if _I_ helped you?”

“You can’t,” she laughs. “How?”

“Well, you have been _virtuous_ until now,” he says, moving closer. “But you could not be anymore.”

She stares at him. “ _You_ would…?” She asks, her voice trembling.

“My lady,” he presses, moving forward, feeling in his heart that it’s the right thing to do, “you _do_ have astonishing eyes, and no one has been so forward or sincere with me in the last… years, I think. And — well. I can recognize a kindred soul. If the point is that no one could ever _want_ you, I think that I would have no issue proving the contrary.”

Her fingers drop from the sword’s hilt. “I don’t know if — it could work,” she says. “But — it won’t if you’re not sincere, Ser. You don’t have to —”

“I do nothing I don’t want to,” he says, and then he takes a step closer, goes on his toes and kisses her.

For a moment she doesn’t move, then she parts her lips for him with a sigh, and — oh. She kisses him back gently, shaking fingers touching the sides of his face, nothing like the fire that was in Cersei’s kisses back _then_ , and even if she’s slightly taller it feels like they’re made to fit together, and a moment later one of the torches goes out at once and she shudders, breaking the kiss, but she doesn’t move away from him.

“Is it working?” He asks, a certain mirth creeping through his voice when he hasn’t sounded like this in _years_.

“I think so,” she smiles back. “But I might need something more than a kiss. If you’re amenable.”

She’s blushing under her freckles. Her eyes _really_ are pretty, he thinks.

“Gladly,” he says, and kisses her harder.

He wonders if she would come with him, should they break that curse.

Maybe he will ask her later.

_Maybe_.

For now —

He kisses her again, gasping in delight when she kisses back, _harder_ , not tentatively like before, and before long she’s moaning into his mouth, her rough hands grasping at his hips, pulling him closer —

“Sorry,” she says, breaking the kiss, “I just — I never, this is the first time —”

“My lady,” he replies, his voice dropping lower, “I _asked_ , didn’t I? And I think this is rather the point, isn’t it?”

She nods, her hands pulling him closer again, her lips against his again, so gentle, so careful, and now _he_ is moaning into her mouth as they fall on their knees to the ground, and of course they both have armor on so now it’s getting increasingly uncomfortable, so he leans back even if he doesn’t really _want_ to —

“Maybe we should get these off,” he winks, and she _blushes_ bright red under those freckles on her face, and she nods as she moves back and starts undoing the straps on her armor, and he does the same with his. Her fingers are shaking, but his are too, and he wonders, _what would Cersei think of this_ , but Cersei isn’t here, Cersei didn’t care, Cersei _let him go_ and she’s looking at him with those blue, guileless eyes and she said he had _worth_ and she seemed to just _know_ and —

He’s let pieces of his white armor fall on the ground and he’s stepped out of his boots before he looks at Brienne again. She’s dressed like him, rough breeches and wool shirt underneath, and she’s taken off her boots as well, and _gods_ she has wide shoulders and no hips and a flat chest with barely visible breasts, but when she unlaces her shirt he can’t help just _staring_ at the freckles peppering the creamy skin under the wool. She’s not quite looking at him, though.

“Brienne?” He asks, moving closer.

“I — I know I’m not —” She shakes her head, finally looking at him. “ _Pleasurable_ to look at. I’m sorry if —”

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” he says, moving closer, slipping a hand under her shirt, feeling the taut muscle underneath. “I already told you, your eyes are lovely. And that armor didn’t favor your legs.”

“My… legs?”

He lets a hand roam over her back, touching her thigh. “They’re _long_ ,” he whispers, “and they’re firm, gods, you have a swordsman’s built, do you think _I_ would find it unpleasant to look at?”

She blinks once, twice, then her hands go to his face and she kisses her again, sweet, slow, and as he lays down on the ground he thinks that Cersei never kissed him with such care, Cersei’s hands never shook as she undid the laces on his shirt, Cersei never looked down at him in awe.

“What,” he smiles, feeling it for the first time in _years_ , “do you like what you see?”

“Ser Jaime,” she whispers, her voice cracking as her hands touch his chest, and she’s so tentative, as if she doesn’t know if she _can_ , and Jaime isn’t missing that _she_ has done everything until now even if she’s supposedly without experience, “you — I mean. You’re…”

“Handsome? Fetching?” He’s trying to make her loosen up a bit, she _should_ touch him, Seven Hells, he _wants_ her to touch him —

“More than,” she whispers, her shirt falling open. Her breasts are small but perky, he thinks, and he wants to touch them but not until he knows she wants it. “I — I never — I never thought someone like _you_ could ever look at me,” she finally whispers, biting down on her lip. “Can I —” She asks, her hands hovering on his hips.

“That’d be rather the point, wouldn’t it?” He smiles, and then she _finally_ touches them below the shirt, her legs around his thighs, kissing him soundly and _fully_ and with shaking fingers, and he thinks the ground just shook but he doesn’t care, not when he just wants to get off his breeches as his cock gets _harder_ , and it’s been _years_ since that brothel with Cersei and she did everything back then so it’s not like he has this great experience, but Brienne probably wouldn’t care now, would she, and so he kisses her back and runs his hands through her hair for a moment before they latch on to her shoulders. She does the same, fingers running through his locks, and he keeps on moaning into her mouth and she keeps on kissing him until her teeth grasp his lower lip and she moves back at once.

“Sorry,” she says again, “I don’t know what’s —”

“ _Brienne_ ,” he interrupts her, “if you do know _everything_ , I assume you would know that… I am not quite experienced either.”

“That’s not —”

“And the only other time — the only other time I did this, it wasn’t —” He doesn’t know how to explain it to her, but in comparison, Cersei’s hands didn’t feel as gentle and warm and _caring_ , nor did she leave him time to breathe, nor she looked at him like she thought him a blessing, but maybe he can try. “I wanted this. I _want_ this. You obviously want it too. It’s fine. You — you can touch. You can do whatever you want. I _am_ a knight, you know.”

“Well,” she blurts, “you can touch, too. If you’d like.”

He immediately reaches up and grasps her breasts, squeezing just a bit, and she moans loud enough that she could be heard outside, if anyone else was here. “Good,” he says, and then she’s kissing him again and again before she moves back and gets out of her breeches and takes _his_ own off, and for a moment she seems surprised when she sees he’s hard for her, and _quite so_ , but how could he not be, not when they’ve rubbed against each other for that long, and then she parts her legs as she sits above him again and when he reaches down and touches her in between her legs she’s _wet_ , and she moans when he experimentally touches her cunt once, twice, slipping a couple of fingertips in.

“Ser — _Ser Jaime_ —”

“I think,” he says, “in the current circumstances, you can drop that title,” and then he shoves two fingers inside and she screams his name once, twice, _thrice_ as she clenches around him, and before he can say anything about it and about how sticky his hand is, she’s said that she can’t wait anymore and she’s moved forward and she’s taken his cock in her hands and she’s slipped on it and _fuck_ , she’s tight and wet and _warm_ and she’s rolling down her hips experimentally as she moans, and then her hands are behind his shoulders and in his hair again and she’s asking if it’s all right —

“Fuck,” he says, “ _yes_ , please, _do it_ ,” he blurts, and then she’s riding him experimentally as his mouth goes to her breasts and she keeps on screaming his name like it’s the only word she knows other than _yes_ and _harder_ , and so he fucks into her harder even if she’s the one setting the pace, and she’s moaning so beautifully against his ear, and he’s pretty sure that the ground shakes under them _again_ as she clamps down on him tighter and and _tighter_ and gods, he’s _close_ —

“If — if you want me not to —” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“Fuck _that_ ,” she blurts, and suddenly the swear makes his blood boil hotter as she leans down and kisses him again and he’s — he’s gone a moment later, vision white, pleasure wracking through him as Brienne screams his name again and starts shaking around him again, her hand still cupping the back of his head so gently even if her hold is almost possessive and gods but he thinks he _likes_ it, and he’s spilling inside her in front of a fucking sept and he can’t give a single damn about it, and she’s moaning _yes_ and _oh_ and _Jaime_ all over when she moves back to breathe, and he’s too wrecked to say anything else but she doesn’t pull off him at once. He takes in a ragged breath, then two, and then she opens her eyes and looks down at him in wonder, her mouth curling into a small, sweet smile that shows her crooked teeth, and he kisses her again because he can, and —

“Did it work?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

“I think so,” she says, sounding awed. “I — I don’t feel like I _have_ to stay anymore.” She turns, and _oh_ , the chalice actually tumbled to the ground before. She tries to reach out for it and she immediately takes her hand back the moment her fingertips brushing against it, and then she laughs, fully, with that smile actually fully taking over her face.

“What?” He asks.

“I can’t touch it anymore,” she says, sounding _relieved_. “Gods, thank you so much, _thank you_ —”

“No need for that,” he smiles back. “It was no hardship. For that matter…” He shakes his head. “For that matter, I think I would rather make sure you’re thoroughly wrecked before we leave here. You _did_ wait this long, I couldn’t certainly leave you like this.”

“You don’t have to —”

“I _want_ to,” he presses on. “Also, the first inn is days away from here. And as much as I think a bed would be more suited, I think doing it outside where there’s snow wouldn’t be such a great plan.”

“Wait, _we_?”

He shakes his head. “I was wondering,” he whispers. “Before. I mean, I — honestly, you know why I’m here. If you’ve been here for this long, you probably do not… have plans. I’m tired of being on my own. And no one else not counting my brother has… well. Seen beyond what I did. Since then. I only ever wanted to keep my vows. I think you do, too. The Kingsguard is… not what I had hoped for. I don’t think I want to go back.”

She gasps, eyes going wider, and he can see she’s about to cry, but then —

“Do you want me to come with you?” She whispers.

“I was thinking _I_ could come with you, but however you prefer.”

She smiles wider then, still so sweetly, the tips of her hair brushing against his skin —

“Yes,” she says, “it would be my honor.” And then she’s kissing him again, moving off him, and he’s going to kiss her cunt the moment he can get her to lie down, but for now — for now he thinks he wants to take it slow.

They _do_ have time, after all, and if anyone else wants to try and find the damned chalice and whatever virtue comes with it, good luck to them. He thinks he’s just found all the virtue he needs without needing to see if he could touch it _now_ , and from the way Brienne is looking at him… he’s pretty sure she is on his same side. Or maybe he’s on hers, since she knew about it before.

He thinks he likes how that sounds.

He thinks he likes it very much.

End.


End file.
